


I'll Take Care of You (Or Else)

by LadyMurasaki



Series: Empire [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Ancestors with Dancestor names, Canon-typical language, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Humanstuck, More tags to be added, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMurasaki/pseuds/LadyMurasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day he's just some scraggly orphan being dragged along on the ragged coattails of the rebellion, being smuggled from one house to the next.<br/>The next day he's being picked up from the dungeons by some crazy rich wench with a weird fetish for surly teenagers like a puppy rescued from the seediest pet store you can imagine, then she drops anything he could ever ask for right there in his lap.<br/>Sounds like some kind of insane, drug-induced fantasy, doesn't it?<br/>Well it's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (This fic happens 13 years after "Leaving (The Past Behind)" -- so Karkat is 18 here. Other short stories will be added to the series covering the interim.  
> You could feasibly read this without "Leaving (The Past Behind)", but parts of this might not make as much sense without.)

It had all happened so fast. So suddenly. One minute they were hunkered down in the kitchen of their host -- a cheerful woman who had lost her husband to the Empire’s “recruitment,” more than happy to house the motley batch of rebel orphans for a few hours while a lab or something was raided. He wasn’t actually sure what was going down, Rufioh kept that information from them, but it didn’t really matter. Rufioh was due back soon, and then they’d gather what few things they had and load into a car to be shuttled off to their next destination, to meet up with the rest of the team. He didn’t know where that was either. Rufioh said it was safer if they didn’t know. But for now, maybe, it was okay to accept the huge, delicious ham dinner that this woman had offered them. And really, how could you turn down a meal that a total stranger had just whipped up in the middle of the night? They didn’t eat this good back at home, and the rows of ragged card tables and splintery picnic tables didn’t feel anything like this cookie-scented kitchen with its little round table and dishware that clinked and the little chicken-shaped timer by the stove that crowed to announce that the cookies were done. 

They mistook the car pulling in for Rufioh. Didn’t question the second or third car. The front door slammed open -- Rufioh always knocked, he was always so polite -- and just as their lovely, beautiful hostess turned to either greet or admonish, her hands wrapped in a dish towel decorated with ducks, a shot rang out. 

There was yelling, more gunfire, Kanaya was shoving at him, Sollux’s cry was piercing, but it all seemed so distant, like it was happening in some other house. Their lovely hostess -- he’d never gotten her name, they never exchanged names, Rufioh said it made them safe -- was crumpling to the ground in slow motion. She looked so surprised. There was a red spot between her eyes, leaking bright red down her face, and-- oh. She’d been shot. Who would shoot her? She didn’t do anything. She was just making cookies for some dumb kids. She didn’t deserve to be shot. 

There was a sharp pain in the back of his head, and the last thing he saw was the dead eyes of their hostess. 

~

“What do you mean, ‘ _they’re gone_?’ Gone _where_?” 

Rufioh didn’t yell much, so it stood to reason that his shouting made people look. Some of the nearby Raid Orphans scattered, cowered, started crying, and the rebels that were gently herding them through the hallway shot him a glare as they tried to calm the children. 

Rufioh looked embarrassed, pulling on his mohawk before ushering Dirk and Dave out of the hallway and into a side room. 

“Did they--”

“Aileen was dead.” Dirk adjusted his shades and leaned against a wall, causal as can be. “There was more blood, but no other bodies. She’s the only one that died there. Kanaya’s pistol was there as well, but it looks like she only got one shot off.” 

“They didn’t stand a chance, why didn’t they just stay here!” Dave cut in, frustrated and angry, as he paced the room. 

Dirk glanced at his twin, then away. His voice was lower. “It wasn’t safe to leave them here either. If something had gone wrong--”

“Something _did_ go wrong, and now they’re _gone_.” Dave ran a hand through his hair. 

“Dave.” Rufioh shuffled over, placed a hand on the young adult’s shoulder, squeezed. “We couldn’t have known.” He turned to Dirk and asked, “Do we know how they were found?” 

“We’re looking into it but…” Dirk hesitated, “But we think it was a recruitment.” 

Rufioh swore. Dave ground his teeth. 

“Is it better or worse if the Empire finds out who they are?” the older man ran his hand through his mohawk, looking so much older than his sixty-something years. “Gather up whoever you can find. Get all the information you can. We’re going to get them back… somehow.” 

The door was held open, and Dave and Dirk filed out into the emptying hallway. 

~

Karkat woke to screaming. He stared at the blurry ceiling, listening to the long, drawn-out wailing and too numb to react to it. 

It took him awhile to really process his surroundings, bit by bit; the metal door to his right, the low bench to his left, and the cold of a cement floor in a cement room seeping into his bones and cooling the throbbing in the back of his head and shoulder. And someone was still crying, screaming, somewhere outside of his… room. No, cell; the Empire had grabbed them, so it stood to reason that he’d be in a dungeon somewhere. 

Slow, conscious of the aches and pains that set in all over his body, he sat up, touching the back of his head. His fingers came away red, and as he stared at them, a vision of a dead woman lying in a pool of her own blood flashed before his eyes. He doubled over, puking up the entirety of his dinner on the floor. 

Gasping, eyes watering, he shakily moved from the floor to curl up on the low bench, as far from his regurgitated meal as he could get. 

With a clearer head, it was easier to piece together what had happened. Something had gone wrong, the Empire had found them, and now he was in a dungeon. He could only assume -- hope -- that Kanaya, Nepeta, and Sollux were still alive somewhere. Maybe they escaped. He’d been so utterly fucking useless when they were attacked, god, if he somehow survived this he could never face them again. Kanaya and Nepeta probably fought back. Sollux is only ten, and so so tiny, but he probably fought too. Karkat had just stood there-- God! Such an idiot! 

And now here he sits, in some Empire-run dungeon who-the-hell-knows where for who-the-hell-knows how long before he may-or-may-not get a trial that would most likely be rigged against him. He wondered if they’d put him in front of a firing squad or let him rot in jail. 

And to top off this utterly fantastic shitstorm of a day, he had to piss. A glance around revealed a pipe in the corner that looked like it had once been attached to a toilet, and he groaned, burying his face in his knees. 


	2. Chapter 2

None of the guards would tell him where he was or where his sisters were or what they’d done with Sollux or what was going to happen to any of them. Didn’t matter how much he yelled, screamed, or pleaded, they just ignored him at best, laughed at worst. 

Whoever had been screaming had since stopped, though whether they’d lost their voice or were made to stop by other means was anyone’s guess. He tried not to think about it, but the uncertainty put him on edge. 

The metal door had a small glass-and-wire window that he could see through if he stood on tip-toe (damn his short stature), but there wasn’t much to see. A concrete hallway lined with similar doors. The slot on the bottom of the door that was presumably used to deliver food (not that he’d gotten any, his stomach reminded him) was held shut from the outside with some kind of bar, the door itself had some kind of…. control panel…. thing. Sometimes a guard walked past. He lost interest at that point and retreated to the “bed.” The occasional sounds of footsteps or an echoed voice reached him, the buzz of fluorescent lighting, but otherwise it was silent. He started tapping his nails against the metal bed frame just to break the monotony. 

Somewhere a door clanged, one he vaguely had begun to associate with the arrival and departure of the guards. Multiple sets of shoes clumped down the hallway, and unusual enough occurrence for him to pay attention; a woman’s voice was among them, talking airily into a phone, he surmised from the lack of a vocal response. It sounded like dinner plans, and he began to wonder exactly how long he’d been in here. 

“OK, it’s a date! Bye bye!” the woman chirped just outside his door. The footsteps stopped, and Karkat finally lifted his head to stare in suspicion. 

“Is this him?” The mystery woman sounded so perky, way too upbeat for such a place; he could see a mess of black curls and then wide eyes were staring at him through the window like some sort of sideshow exhibit. Karkat decided that whoever she was, he hated her on principal. 

“We believe so-- wait, shouldn’t you--”

“Don’t presume you can tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.” The face disappeared from his sight and her voice went cold and snappish. A muffled beep, and the door was flung open. 

The woman in the doorway was tall, maybe close to Rufioh’s six feet, and curved like the women in Dave’s not-so-secret stash of porn magazines. Her hair was a wild tangle of black hanging loose behind her. The three guards behind her were familiar -- at least their uniforms were, the worn grey and black that looked like it had been used and re-used a thousand times over. They clustered behind the woman, looking uneasy and hunched in on themselves in a way that would be comical under almost any other situation. 

He eyed the woman as she studied him, spitting out, “I asked for food, not a hooker, you useless shitbags. Is the Empire really so hard up for workers that they resorted to hiring the most brain damaged monkeys they could pull out of the zoo, or were you three just the only ones stupid enough to apply?” 

The guards were spluttering, red in the face, but the woman just laughed, waving them back. “Is he always this charming?” 

“Yeah. _Charming_.” One of the three stooges, the bald one whose face was turning an ugly blotchy tone, muttered darkly. She smiled directly at him, and Karkat had the pleasure of seeing the man shrink in on himself. 

Another guard, one with a slightly nicer looking uniform, cleared his throat. “He is pretty mouthy. More than a few of the previous shift has suggested he be tied down and gagged. Among.... _other_ suggestions.” 

Karkat sneered, “I’d like to see you try.” 

He was ignored. The woman looked strangely pleased with the report, clapping her hands together. She actually bounced on her toes a little, and Karkat barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Barely. “He’s perfect! Have him moved, I’ll make sure my servants prepare for his arrival!” 

The guards glanced among themselves, looking like maybe they wanted to protest, but she never gave them the chance, sweeping off down the hallway and already on her phone again. 

Karkat stared warily at the guards, wanting to ask but sure he wouldn’t get an answer anyway. With a grunt, the ugly bald one slammed the door and they all rushed off after the woman, arguing amongst themselves. 

Slumping back against the wall, Karkat tried in vain to piece together what the hell had just happened. 

~

He knew that meals had gone out to the other cells -- he heard the cart and its squeaky wheel make its way down the hall, and the clang of little door slats opening and closing -- but none came to his cell, and his stomach was starting to complain loudly. He cursed the delivery guard, but only got a snappish ‘ _shut up already, brat_ ’ and a kick to his door in reply. 

As the cart-pushing asshole left, a small squad entered the hall, trooping up to Karkat’s door. He backed away from the door, wary. 

When the door opened on a quad of new, unfamiliar guards, he eyed them with a scowl. Their uniforms were newer, tailored, and definitely not from this dungeon. 

“What? Are you here to ogle me now too? Is this standard procedure in this hellhole, or are you all just getting off on looking at my sorry carcass in particular? Why not just take a picture already, pass it around, go and have a great big circle jerk over it, because I am getting sick as fuck looking at your faces.” 

A female guard stepped forward, holding a pair of handcuffs out. “We are here to transport you to a new location. Now, you can make this easy, or you can make this hard, but regardless, you will be coming with us. What will it be?” 

“Like hell I’m going _anywhere_ with you moronic crotchstains. Did you seriously think I would be stupid enough to just let you cuff me and lead me merrily to my death? I have _a little_ more self-preservation than that, thanks!” 

She sighed, and another of the guards, a big burly man built like a tank, stepped from behind her, lopsided grin on his meaty face. He advanced on Karkat like a lumbering bear, big and slow and threatening, but Karkat was small and fast and stupid, and he scrambled further into the cell and out of the guards’ range. The guard changed direction to follow, and Karkat realized too late that he was effectively cornered. He could the brute, or he could rush the three still in the doorway, or he could cower in the corner and piss himself in fear like a baby. Not exactly ideal odds. The brute took another step forward, and Karkat threw himself at the sentient brick wall passing itself off as human. No point in making it easy. 

He was reconsidering his life choices moments later, when he’d been thrown to the ground face-first, and the guard that was easily four times his size sat down on his ass, grappling to restrain the teenager’s arms. 

Karkat resorted to what he knew best: yelling. “Get off of me you gargantum shitsmoking waste of a cheeseburger, you’re going to break my back! I swear, I will shit on everything you own and-- wait, fuck, _ow, my arm does not bend that way you ginormous freak of nature, get your sweaty hands off me!_ ” 

Despite his loud protests and futile struggling, the brute wrestled Karkat’s arms behind him and held them in place while the female guard bent to fit the cuffs. 

A third guard cuffed him none too gently across the face as he was hauled to his feet. “If you’re going to whine this much the whole way, we’re going to have to gag you too.” Karkat hocked a gob of bloody spit in his face moments before the female guard grabbed him by the hair. He was a little proud to see the male guard wiping the saliva off his face. 

His head was yanked back in an awkward angle, the female guard scowling, “Just gag him now and get it over with.” 

Fingers prodded at his jaw, forcing his mouth open, and someone shoved rubber between his teeth. Straps were arranged around his head as he screamed his anger through the gag and fought to yank away from the restraining hands. He wasn’t even given the chance to walk on his own; the brute tossed him over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A hand hooked in the waistband of Karkat’s jeans, an arm around his kicking legs, and they carried him from the cell without another word. 

The dungeon seemed to go on forever, and by the time fresh air (or, as much fresh air as he could get with his head so close to this pungent imbecile’s asshole) Karkat had worn himself out screaming and flailing, and the blood rushing to his head and out of his nose was starting to make him lightheaded. He wiped his face against the shirt in front of him, smearing a mix of blood and spit on the fabric, and the guard jostled him with a grunt. 

He barely got a look around at the darkening sky and wholly unfamiliar area before being dumped in a running van and the door was closed on him. A row of seats lined the featureless sides and a wire mesh separated him from the front of the van. The female guard and the so-far-silent fourth guard got in; he assumed the other two had a separate vehicle. Karkat struggled upright, awkwardly pulling himself onto one of the benches just in time to be nearly tossed down again as the van pulled out suddenly. 


	3. Chapter 3

The ride took far too long -- all night, because it was just starting to get light again outside. They’d stopped twice -- once to get food (and much as he hated to admit being grateful, they had gotten him a greasy burger and a bottle of water.) and again for a bathroom break and refill on their coffee (at least they uncuffed him to take a piss. After being handfed that burger he was a little worried.) 

When the van rolled to a halt and shut off, Karkat was fighting to keep his eyes open. He expected another truck stop, but the doors opened on what could only be described as a small mansion. The guards shuffled him out, yawning and juggling half-cold coffee mugs. He just stared up at the two story building with its pristine white siding, perfect lawn, and manicured gardens. It even had a fucking porch with a swing on it. It looked like something out of those pre-war pictures in the history books. He half expected a big yellow dog to come running out to greet them. The property was surrounded by a stone wall that stretched well above any normal person’s head and was topped with wrought iron spikes, blocking any view of the outside in what should have looked ominous but instead came across as _charming_. 

The guards didn’t look in the least fazed by the building, just hustled him along through the front door. The interior was just as pristine, decorated in pink and gold tones with an almost overwhelming oceanic motif. 

No one seemed to be around this early, save the woman that let them in and exchanged a few words with the female guard. The other guards led him further into the house and down a flight of stairs, out of earshot. The woman caught up with them by the time they got downstairs, giving Karkat a glance over and a small smile before she hustled ahead. The hallway looked like it ran the length of the house, branching off to a few scattered doors. All of them were closed, so he had no idea what was behind them. The woman rapped on one of the doors and announced a cheery ‘ _he’s here girls!_ ’ before moving on to the door adjacent to it, pushing that door open and disappearing inside. His guards steered him to follow. 

Inside looked like one of those cheap apartments with the bare minimum of furniture that Rufioh sometimes had them staying in, except bigger and… not cheap. The paint wasn’t peeling off the walls, the carpet looked spotless and plush, and the furniture actually matched. There was no kitchen he could see, just a small round table with a pair of chairs and a bowl of fruit perched in the middle. A pair of doors spaced out on the right side sat ajar; the closest appeared to lead to a bathroom, but he couldn’t see inside the other. The majority of the main space was taken up by a huge, curved couch facing a television tucked in the corner. The guards led him around the couch and pushed him down into the cushions before releasing his gag and cuffs. The woman appeared through the second door, and the guards followed her out as she chattered about breakfast and fresh coffee. The door closed behind them with a quiet click, and Karkat launched off the couch towards it to find it locked by the time he got there. He stood at it for a moment anyway, listening to the distant tromp of their boots and the fading sound of the woman’s voice. 

A careful inspection of the room didn’t actually reveal anything very exciting. The second door opened into a bedroom, connected to the bathroom by a closet that had way more space in it than any closet had a right to have. Other than a few towels, the closet was bare, and he moved on to the bathroom. The tub looked like it was big enough to swim in, and he scoffed at the excessiveness. The counter had little packages of basic toiletries -- a toothbrush and paste, deodorant, shaving cream and razor, soap, shampoo and conditioner… -- all laid out for him like some kind of overly thoughtful hotel. Back in the main room, he checked the cabinets to find them mostly bare, but there was a cup set out near the sink and he took a moment to fill it with water. The shelves were as empty as the closet, but at least the TV worked, so he turned it on to a random channel just to drown out the silence. 

A little flabbergasted, and mostly overwhelmed, he wandered aimlessly, debating a shower, or having some fruit, or maybe just going to sleep, but the whole situation just seemed way too surreal. His overactive imagination assured him that the fruit was poisoned, the shower was rigged, someone was just waiting outside the door for him to let his guard down, and he finally just planted himself on the couch, curled up in the comforter off the bed, and stared blankly at the television. 

~

He must have dozed off at some point; a girl was shaking his shoulder and calling him ‘sir’ until he blinked blearily in her direction. 

She smiled and straightened up. “How was your rest? Are you hungry? I can have some lunch brought down while you are in the bath. What would you like?” 

Karkat continued to stare at her, muzzily trying to comprehend who she was and why she was asking all these questions. She waited patiently as he looked around, reaffirming that he was still in the apartment-cell, now with the addition of a stern-looking guard near the door and the girl hovering over him. He thought he could hear movement and water from the bathroom. 

“What’s going on?” 

“My lady sent us to be sure you are comfortable. Anna is filling up the bath, and afterwards we’ll need to get your measurements. We’ll bring lunch down for you -- let us know if you have any sensitivities or preferences, and we’ll do our best to cater to them. Oh, I’m sorry! My name is Emma, and that over there is Carver.” 

He still wasn’t really sure that he understood what was going on, but muttered, “I’m allergic to fish.” 

“Noted!” she chirped, and stepped back in an obvious invitation for him to get up. He managed, leaving the comforter carelessly on the floor and, after a moment to glance around uncertainly, stumbling in the general direction of the bathroom. Emma followed him, but he didn’t pay her any attention. 

Another girl, twin to Emma but with shorter hair, looked up at his entrance. What was her name? She beckoned to him, still knelt beside the tub, and he glanced back at Emma, uncertain. She tried to shoo him further into the room, but he stalled in the doorway instead. “What, are you two going to watch me or something? I’m perfectly capable of bathing myself you know.” 

He thought he heard Carver snicker, and shot him a glare. The man only raised an eyebrow. The twins exchanged glances with each other, and he glared at them too. With a quiet laugh from one of them, they retreated, instructing him to leave his clothes for washing. 

Grudgingly, he agreed, closing the door behind them to strip down in privacy. With a towel tied protectively around his waist he passed them through a crack in the door and retreated back inside; to his dismay, the door didn’t have a lock, and he hesitated before dropping the towel and slipping into the tub. 

He had to admit that the warm bath was nice, even if it was still way too large. He would have liked to stay in much longer, but having the twins and Carver out of sight was leaving him anxious, and he made quick work of washing himself before climbing out and donning the towel again. He used the toilet, but decided to worry about brushing his teeth and hair later. A peek into the closet revealed that they hadn’t snuck some clean clothes in there for him, and it took him some minutes of debate with himself before he could bring himself to leave the bathroom with nothing but a tiny towel. A deep breath, and Karkat flung the door open with probably more force than necessary, making Carver twitch and frown at him. Karkat scowled right back at him. The girls looked up from where they were seated on the couch, only mildly surprised. 

“Oh, you’re done!” Emma stood first, approaching him with a smile. She didn’t look the least perturbed by his lack of clothing, and he felt his face flushing with embarrassment. 

The other girl -- Annie or Anne or whatever -- followed suit, heading past them to the small table. “We sent for your lunch and a change of clothes. In the meanwhile, let us get your measurements.” She tossed something bright orange to Emma, who caught it; when she started unraveling it he realized it was a fabric measuring tape. 

“What do you need my measurements for?” He unconsciously clung a little tighter to his towel as Emma approached him. 

“Your clothes, of course. You can’t just go around wearing that ratty old sweater and jeans all the time.” She smiled cheerily, stretching the tape measure out to assess his height. 

Uncomfortable, he stood still as she measured various aspects of his person and rattled off the numbers to her twin. Anna. The short haired one was Anna. Anna typed them into a tablet without comment. 

A hand slipped up under his towel and pressed against his inner thigh, and Karkat jumped, turning red, opening his mouth to protest, but she was done and out of his towel before he managed much more than an undignified yelp. Anna snickered. 

“And that’s it! See, not so bad!” Emma pronounced as a teenager entered the room, a tray of food balanced on his arm. “Go have a seat, we’ll have a change of clothes for you by the time you’ve finished.” 

With that, all of them gathered their things and left the room. Anna, last out the door, indicated a switch near the door. “If you need anything, just flip this. We’ll come as soon as we’re able.” 

The door clicked shut behind her, and Karkat impulsively checked that it had locked (it did) before investigating his meal. 

Not ready to let his guard down, Karkat inspected the various foodstuffs -- a few sandwiches, a fruit cup, a salad with little cups of different dressings, a cookie -- closely. He wasn’t exactly sure what it would look like if they’d poisoned or drugged his food, but he felt better having looked it over anyway and, well, it _looked_ safe. He paced around to the other side of the table, stared at it suspiciously, glanced back to the door, and finally pulled out a chair. 

A sandwich seemed safe enough. It was just some pieces of meat and cheese and bread, there’s not a lot that can be done to it, right? He nibbled on it, shooting glances towards the door as he did. It tasted alright, at least. One last glance at the door and he shrugged, wolfing down the rest of the sandwich in his hand. Salad dressing seemed pretty easy to mess with, and salad was just boring without dressing, so he passed on that; he wasn’t even sure he could name some of the pieces cut up in the fruit cup, so that was out too. Instead, he pulled the remaining sandwiches to himself, rearranging their fillings to his preferences and chewing his way through them. He’d feel bad for wasting the excess if he were at home, but he wasn’t; It felt like a minor victory to waste this new “prison’s” finances. He wasn’t about to waste that cookie though. With the sandwiches thoroughly demolished, he reverently brought the chocolate chip cookie up to his mouth for a taste. It had been so long since he’d had a cookie; the rebellion didn’t exactly have a lot of cash to squander on treats, and when they did, the youngsters usually managed to hoard them. Sollux was the worst. Like he had some kind of sixth sense for sugar. Their hostess had made them cookies, but she forbade them from eating any until after supper. Sollux had stolen two when her back turned. They’d smelled so good, Karkat had his eye on one that must have been half chocolate, but then…

He tore the lids off the dressing containers with more vitriol than absolutely necessary and dumped them all into the salad, followed by the fruit cup, and then the disgusting onions, and any other scraps he could find, before throwing the bowl away from himself in disgust. It clattered against a wall, and the floor a moment later, and Karkat stomped into the bedroom to flop dramatically on the bed and roll up in the covers. 

By the time his entirely pointless tantrum had ended, the door to his fancy jail cell clicked open. He couldn’t see who entered, but was too exhausted and embarrassed to care. Whoever it was, he could vaguely hear them shuffling into the bedroom, and then back out. Dishes clinked for a little while, and then they left without a word. 

When he dragged himself out from under the covers, there was a neatly folded pile of clothes on the stand next to him. He dragged them under the covers and struggled into them before curling back up, tired. 


End file.
